


Monkey Business

by ayesakara



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayesakara/pseuds/ayesakara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An event on an away mission reminds Chakotay of a conversation he once had with a well-wisher. Written for the first Die J/C Die Contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkey Business

Stunned was it. Stunned was right. Stunned was definitely the word for the occasion. Not only for the poor primate but me as well.

All it had taken was one fast zipping non-lethal charge from Seven of Nine’s phaser. And voila - the problem was solved. Just like that.

Stunned.

If only I’d figured this out four years ago while stranded with my then-elusive quarry, literally fed up with all the games that were played, and feeling utterly clueless as to how to walk the line anymore.

Fed up and very thoroughly pissed off.

But then, was I really?

That clueless, I mean.

After all, it was many years ago. And I had all the evidence laid out before me. The *monkey* had made sure of that; delightfully squeaking around like the intolerable little chimp that it was, cackling away the information of how things were going to shape up for me in my near future.

On New Earth.

As if a *monkey* would know.

I am sure my spirit guide would’ve loved tearing that irritating primate into neat little strips of white processed meat-doused into hot barbecue sauce and preserved for future consumption.

Hey, I may be a vegetarian, but my she-wolf definitely isn’t. I don’t begrudge her this. It’s in her nature. Just like being infinitely polite to my superior officers is in *my* nature. Even if it’s only forever to my detriment.

Too bad spirit guides don’t have access to my dream world.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. Getting my meditation-loving self bitten by an insect and then left behind on New Earth with the captain by my questing shipmates hadn’t resulted in my sudden ability to communicate with native life forms.

It was merely a dream.

I dreamt that I was sitting in the forest, surrounded by rows upon rows of narrow delicate-looking single beds --all meant for a female obviously-- carving away one headboard after another for my elusive, utterly inseduceable captain. Whom I should mention I could actually hear, even in the dream, merrily splashing away in the bathtub that *I’d* built for her several weeks ago. When suddenly the monkey appeared. I watched as it gleefully waved at me from the top branch of a tall tree, grabbed a vine and skillfully swung down to land right in front of me.

Stunned felt very right even then.

"Hiya pal," the monkey snickered in perfect standard. "Want to know why it’s all hopeless?" It smirked at me, its whole demeanor very obviously meant to tease.

I blinked and looked down at my combadge, wondering if the universal translator had suddenly adapted to primate talk.

"Oh, its just a dream, you idiot." The monkey scoffed at me and when I looked up at it, it shook its furry little head. "You don’t really expect monkeys to suddenly start talking, do you? If you haven’t figured it out as yet, you’re sleeping."

"Oh." I breathed a little easier. After all, it couldn’t really bite me and hurt me or anything in a dream, could it? I was still suffering the consequences of an insect bite. Didn’t want an animal bite added to my list of problems too. I leaned back and looked at the monkey. "What do you want?"

I watched with a raised eyebrow, and no small exasperation, as the monkey settled its bottom on the nice comfortable seat I’d built a week ago for *myself*, folded one leg neatly on top of another and put an elbow (its monkey version) on its knee. I almost expected it to light a cigar.

"I am here to clue you in." It looked at me. "So that you can stop wasting your time."

My brows furrowed. "Wasting my time? With what?"

"Not with what. With *whom*." The monkey bared its teeth. "Kathy wants you to know she ain’t interested."

I felt my brows climbing to play catch with my hairline. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You really are a big dumb oaf, aren’t you?" The monkey wrinkled its nose at me. "I am talking about your inane efforts to woo your captain. It’s *not* going to work!"

"What efforts?" I felt my face burn at the crazy revelations. "I’m not trying to woo anyone." Not really. Not successfully at least.

"Oh yeah?" The monkey snorted. "What’s all the carving for then? Trying to prove you topped Surviving the Wilderness through Carpentry 101 in your junior year at the academy? When are you going to realize that all the headboards, bathtubs, sand paintings and neck rubs of the world aren’t gonna win her. You’re not *it*."

"How do you *know* that?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief. The little initial burn of embarrassment was washing away with the characteristic indignation that lies deep within my soul and rises to the surface only once in a blue moon. I was damned if I was having a monkey order me around. "You just said monkeys don’t talk. How can you know I am not it?"

"Ahh yes." A dreamy look filled the monkey’s eyes. "We’re not gifted with speech in real life, but we are prized listeners… and my Kathy likes to speak to me when she’s lonely."

"You?" I shook my head in amazement, dazed at the twists my dream state was taking. For a dream, this was a real doozy. I almost felt like laughing.

"Yes," the monkey continued in the same awed tone. "She tells me you’re not really her type but doesn’t know how to tell you without hurting your sensibilities."

"Not her *type*?" I felt my teeth grit at the skinny little pre-neanderthal’s discourse, all hints of humor evaporating from my demeanor. "What do you mean?" I asked, taking deep breaths to calm myself. After all this was just a dream. No use getting pissed off in a dream, right?

"Yeah." It thinned its mouth at me. "You’re too border-worldish for her. Not civilized enough for someone with her refined, cultivated upbringing, ya know."

"Is that right?" I felt the stirrings of real annoyance uncurling in my belly and restrained myself with effort. "What’s her type then?" Let me guess. Three feet tall and easily maneuverable on a tree branch?

"Sorry, but that’s confidential." The monkey sniffed at me. "You know all that legal counselor stuff. I’ll get sued if I gave you that information."

"Oh really?" A snarl started at the back of my throat.

"Yeah. I don’t want to go to jail. New Earth laws are very strict about counselor-patient confidentiality."

"You’re worried about jail?" I growled at the monkey, barely listening to the nonsense it was actually uttering, as I got up from my worktable, my hands curling into fists. "If this was real, I’d have strangled you right here, you furry little nincompoop."

"My my…" The monkey’s eyes widened at my threatening posture, as it too got up from the stool, its hair rising in alarm. "No wonder Kathy doesn’t want to be with you. You’re such an *animal*."

"Oh yeah?" I smiled menacingly at the monkey. "Well, tell you what? I haven’t really been trying all that *hard* to win her either. She’s the only other person here and I am kind of out of choices at the moment-if you haven’t noticed that as yet."

"Disgusting." The monkey scoffed. "She was right. All human males think of is sex. You don’t *deserve* her, you sleazy scumbag!!!" It shrieked at me, its face twisting with comical fury as it jumped on the hanging vine once more, kicking a violent little cloud of dry leaves, grass and mud in my face.

I woke up in my cubicle on New Earth to a small coughing fit, which immediately transformed into a small laughing fit. After the chortles quieted down, I cursed the captain’s burnt effort of a dinner that night and the ensuing indigestion it had caused for the weird dream I’d had and vowed I would never encourage her to cook again.

It was only a dream, after all, I thought to myself. Couldn’t possibly have meant anything, could it?

Nah!

But for the first time on that planet, instead of hoping for miracles, for a change I decided to simply sit back and observe.

Helping the captain tend to her tomatoes in her neat little garden-the one domestic thing she could actually manage without disaster. Talking quantum physics with her while she did her all too important getting-outta-here research. Showing her how to inverse the polarity of a gravimetric field generator to scrounge off additional power in emergencies-the quintessential Maquis techniques. All fun New Earth topics for Captain-First Officer ‘while-we’re-stranded’ discussions.

And just when I’d think that perhaps I was getting through to her… she’d be smiling up at me in that same complacently indulgent way of hers, and I’d be thinking---yes, there it is… she’s showing her human side… I just might be able to break through her steel veneer and emerge triumphant…

…the monkey would reappear.

Always. At the wrong moment. As if it knew just when to interrupt.

And the captain would turn away from me and raise her hand to the primate.

"Here monkey," she’d smile. "Come here, monkey."

And the monkey would cackle at me gleefully, and swing upside down from the top branch, shrieking happily at the captain.

Amusingly, I stopped feeling irritated at these interruptions. There was a calm sense of conclusiveness to the situation that I found interesting in some strange twisted way.

I knew that even though I was literally the last man on Earth, she and I were never meant to be.

A few days later, the miracle of miracles occurred and Voyager came back for us with the cure and we were rescued.

And the captain and I went back to being… well… the captain and I. In other words, not much really changed. She seemed much happier being back in charge and I was just glad to be back in my old cabin. Long live the stale musty recyclable air of Federation starships. Sure beats going out in the fresh invigorating sun and getting bitten by evil insects.

Even removing the splinters and repairing the endless tiny cuts from my poor aching fingers took three solid hours, all the result of my hours of woodworking on New Earth, and enduring the holodoc for that period of time was pure hell on my nerves. Still I wasn’t about to let Tom Paris anywhere near me with a pair of laser tweezers in those old days. He wasn’t nearly as adept a medic back then as he is now.

"It’s not to going to *die*, Chakotay. Relax." Tom pointed the tricorder at the monkey. "It’s just *stunned*, that’s all."

Stunned. There’s that word again.

I looked down at the creature lying on the forest bed and shook my head in wonder. You’d be amazed to find out how many lifecycles on different planets around the galaxy resulted in the evolution of primates similar to Earth’s monkeys. The same wiry, chirpy, furry, irritating goofs. Some aliens kept them in zoos as people did on 24th century Earth at some places. Some kept them in secured environmental parks as people did on 24th century Earth at *other* places. And yet some revered the creatures almost to a point of veneration, giving them more importance than even their local population, deeming them to be some sort of deities who granted their prayers, like *no one* did *anywhere* on 24th century Earth.

Well, with the exception of some Starfleet captains, that is.

But still. Using a phaser at a time like this. Wasn’t this all a little too excessive?

"It’s not permanently damaged," said Seven, obviously not agreeing with my silent internal argument.

I looked at her delicately raised golden eyebrow and sighed. How accurately she could judge our moods sometimes amazed me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she and I had retained some hidden, clandestine form of telepathic connection from our link two years ago. It was almost like she could read my mind.

Or maybe it was I who had become too transparent around some people these days.

That thought gave me pause.

Nonetheless, I realized some Maquis XO to Former Borg Drone line of questioning was in order. I put my hands on my hips and turned to Seven with what I hoped was my serious face.

"Did you have to *shoot* it?" I asked, my own brow rising to mimic hers.

Seven frowned. "The creature interrupted our work. Time is of the essence here as the atmospheric window is only open for the next forty-five minutes. We can’t let anything halt our proceedings lest we want to get trapped here until the next window opens forty-two hours later."

"Seven, our mission is to collect botanical samples from these vegetation patches and to scour for mineral deposits. Not shoot local wildlife."

"It halted discussions critical to our mission."

Which was funny since the only critical discussion I remembered having with Seven at the time the monkey appeared was about replacing Leola root with some of these vegetables we were detecting in the patches ahead of us. Ever since we’d succeeded in convincing Seven that taste wasn’t that irrelevant after all, she’d been actively involved in her latest mission to bring perfection to our cook’s imagination as well. Which was a doomed scenario if you asked me, but that wouldn’t stop Seven now, would it?

Reduce the amount of this spice; increase the amount of that; throw out this ingredient; harvest some more of that; and on and on it went. At least there were no burnt dinners when Seven was cooking.

Even the crew was happier at the changes the constant rearranging brought to their palate but I never would’ve thought that having a former Borg Drone developing a culinary interest could be so hazardous to indigenous life forms.

"The creature’s continuous disruptions were delaying our mission." Seven was still on a roll, obviously passionate about her messhall mission. "It was not responding to diplomacy."

This got a snort from Tom before even I could come up with a response. "Seven, it’s a *monkey*," he drawled. "What did you expect it to do? Swap its favorite recipes with you?"

Apparently, the trend of our conversations hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Of course, the Ensign’s impertinence earned him a glare from Seven.

"Well, um," he stammered in the wake of that cool gaze. "Of course I *agree* with the point you’re trying to make with Chakotay here."

Which earned him a glare from *me*.

"Uh, of course I agree with what *you’re* saying too, Commander." He smiled accommodatingly. "Sort of," he added with a glint in his eye.

The Maquis glare was obviously losing its effect on discourteous conn officers.

"Sort of?" I bristled.

"Well, yeah. I know where you’re coming from but in case you didn’t realize," Tom stressed, "we had the Doc’s blessings in this."

"The Doctor?" I frowned.

"Yes," Tom replied. "The EMH was the one who decided the setting on the phaser that would be least harmful to the primate."

I blinked. "What? The Doctor approved your shooting the monkey?"

"That is correct," Seven replied. "He came to this conclusion after several crewmembers complained about being constantly harassed by the creature. They were afraid they’d get bitten by it and the Doctor realized the mission was more important than the little discomfort a minor stun would cause the creature."

Which, in hindsight, was too damn funny. Stunning a native life form in the pursuit of a mission was apparently not uncalled for. It was the significance of the mission that was obviously in question.

How strongly do you really feel about what you’re pursuing that will make you want to shoot a monkey?

I looked down at the stunned creature, feeling hysteria descend on me like one of those moments of insolent indignation that caught up with me at the most inappropriate times. It started as a ridiculous smile that fought to emerge on my face, forcing me to turn away from my two friends, as I helplessly tried to contain it. My resolution, though, wore down in the wake of the deep rumbling chuckle that rose up my belly. I took a step towards a grove of trees, grinning like a maniac, then another, my hands reaching out to grab the trunk of a tree.

All I’d needed was a damn phaser.

All those weeks of endless pursuit and what did I do? Resorted to the old noble act of being the provider. Building bathtubs. Fucking idiot. Who the *hell* built bathtubs with their hands in the 24th century? And that too for a Starfleet captain who was more interested in spending time with a monkey.

Call me Kathryn, she’d said.

As if *that* made a difference.

My shoulder pressing into the tree trunk, I bent to my knees as I laughed, laughed and laughed-the fit apparently having started while I was reminiscing about the lost opportunity to stun a monkey four years ago. Amidst my comic spell, I saw a pair of Starfleet issue boots walk up and stand next to mine and between breaths, looked up into Tom Paris’s puzzled eyes-his tricorder pointing in my direction, his brow wrinkling with apparent concern.

Which somehow made the whole situation seem even more hilarious.

I grabbed my stomach, still chuckling uncontrollably as my eyes watered, and sucked in deep breaths to try to calm myself. Didn’t want my crewmates to declare me hazardous to *their* health and use the stun setting on *me* now, did I?

Suddenly, I felt a sting on my neck and jerked up to see a hypospray in Tom’s hand.

My laughter disappeared abruptly. "What did you do?" I demanded, wiping my eyes clean.

Tom’s shoulders drooped with what seemed like relief. "So you’re really alright. We weren’t so sure."

I looked at Seven who had apparently seized control of the tricorder, her brow creasing with an identical expression of concern.

"What was in that hypo?" I asked.

"A mild relaxant," Seven replied. "Just to bring you under control."

That sounded funny for some reason as well. "How much under control?"

Tom frowned. "Um. It was a very *mild* relaxant, Commander." He looked at my grin with obvious suspicion and turned back to his crewmate. "Seven?"

"The scans show nothing out of the ordinary." Seven checked the readings. "He should be acting within his normal parameters."

"Oh, will you two *stop* that." I waved at my crewmates, shaking my head. "I am fine."

"Are you sure?" Tom raised a brow.

"Yes," I declared as I straightened my shoulders. "Now grab your stuff and let’s get back to the shuttle."

"We’re leaving?" the pilot asked.

"Yes, we are," I replied, putting all my equipment back into its proper casings. "The next team that comes down can correlate the readings we’ve taken and continue from where we stopped."

"But our discussions regarding the mission…" Seven started.

I interrupted her. "…will continue on the shuttle ride." I smiled. "If I remember correctly, you said the atmospheric window closes very soon. We don’t have much time left."

Our walk back to the shuttle took only a few minutes and we were soon settled in, going through the pre-launch sequence. Or rather Tom and Seven had spread the various PADDs over a console and were bantering over the readings we’d taken as I went through the pre-launch sequence. Tom took over the pilot’s seat once the shuttle was in air, and I slid into the copilot’s chair.

The Rhe’wara system.

Comprising of a string of Y-Class planetoids and only one M-class planet. The M-class had an abundance of minerals and ore deposits which could be used by Voyager but was cursed with a gravitational/electrical field generated by the planet’s magnetic poles that made transportation --via shuttle or otherwise-- down to the surface impossible. It was only through the small windows that opened every time the planet completed a spin on its axis in approximately forty-two hours, that any such attempt could be made.

Thus the urgency on our part.

Voyager, while itself staying in higher orbit, had been sending teams down to different parts of the surface every time a window opened to harvest minerals and vegetables. This was the first time *I’d* encountered the primate life form and consequently the first time seen the endorsed-by-the-EMH stunning technique in action.

As I joined my crewmates in the debate over our readings and indulged Seven in a renewed discussion regarding recipe modifications à la Neelix, my mind once more went over the comedic reality of the situation. As Seven presented her arguments on how a pinch of Ro’luban spices can add flavor as well as nutrition to the crew’s dietary needs, a strange stray thought drifted over to my mental landscape.

My brow wrinkled as I leaned back and silently argued with myself over the absurdity of the whole idea. How silly it would be for Seven if I actually presented it to her. How totally irrelevant. But all my mental arguments aside, the thought clung to me like a blood sucking leech and just wouldn’t let go.

So I swiveled my chair around and faced our Astrometrics officer. Tom, by my side, was laying some changes to our course as he maneuvered the vessel through the heavy ion storms in the atmosphere, and Seven was at the science station, entering data into one of the consoles.

I cleared my throat. "So, Seven," I began. "I was just wondering. What do you think of bathtubs?"

I ignored the muffled choking sounds that came from the pilot’s seat to my left as I looked at Seven pause in her task and put the PADD in her hand down. I gave her a small smile as she looked up at me, a curious expression on her face.

"Bathtubs." She raised a brow. "An unhygienic way of getting yourself cleaned. Lying down in a long shallow vessel filled with your own soiled water with the purpose of washing yourself seems most unsanitary. An upright water shower would be more efficient."

I allowed the smile to grow on my face at her answer as Tom forgot all about choking and snorted yet again.

"Unsanitary?" His tone was filled with incredulity. "That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? People have been using bathtubs for hundreds of years."

"Oh no, I think Seven’s got absolutely the right idea, Ensign." I grinned at him. "Centuries of washers notwithstanding, I think bathtubs stink. Pardon my pun."

Tom looked at me unbelievingly. "What’s gotten into *you*? And more importantly, where did this discussion come from? What is this, some personal vendetta against bathtubs?"

Oh you don’t know the half of it, I thought as I chuckled at him but didn’t answer. Instead, I turned back to Seven. "A water shower, you said?"

"That is correct," she replied.

"What? A narrow, uncomfortable little water shower?" Tom drawled. "You want to take *that* over a nice comfy bathtub?"

"You’re forgetting, Tom." I grinned at him. "A water shower in a First Officer’s bathroom is always designed very luxuriously – plenty of space to maneuver."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me how many ways you’ve got it better than a lowly Ensign like me." Tom sighed dramatically. "Personally, I prefer a jacuzzi."

"Jacuzzi." Seven frowned. "Another crude way of accomplishing the task of cleaning oneself. Based on the same principle as the bathtub. Therefore equally unacceptable."

"Hey, I don’t mind jacuzzis." Tom waved Seven’s criticisms away. "There is room for three, four people in there. And besides," he grinned, "the Delaneys are sure to be great fun in there."

"The Delaneys." Seven stared at him.

"Hot date tonight?" I smiled as we broke atmosphere and emerged in the planet’s orbit, where Voyager awaited us.

He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "That’s right."

Grinning, I watched as Tom directed the shuttle towards Voyager’s port bow and with his characteristic dexterity, maneuvered the vessel cleanly through the opening shuttlebay doors.

"Yes," Seven called out from her station as the shuttle came to a halt inside the shuttlebay. "I am aware of the wager the Delaney sisters made with Lieutenant Chapman regarding Ensign Paris’s holodeck scenario."

"Huh?" Tom looked at her, a blank expression on his face.

Seven looked at him coolly. "Your jacuzzi program."

Tom’s head swiveled back as he stared at Seven. "How do you know about that?"

I held my breath, realizing something was up.

Seven got up from behind her console. "The Delaney sisters mentioned your presenting them with your holodeck credits for eight hours uninterrupted use with Lieutenant Chapman."

"Lieutenant Chapman?" Tom growled. "Where the hell did Chapman come from? The date was with *me*."

"That was what the wager was all about." Seven picked up her equipment, thoroughly unruffled, while I contemplated whether to feel sympathy for Tom or chuckle unabashedly at him. "I am sure the Delaneys will thank you for your skillful designing of the jacuzzi."

"To *hell* with the jacuzzi." Tom gritted his teeth as the shuttle hatch was opened from outside and two ensigns from Science peered inside, waiting for us to come out. "I can’t *believe* this." Tom looked at me with a scowl on his face. "You know what, you were right. Bathtubs *stink*," he snarled and stalked out of the shuttle.

That made the decision for me. Anyone who thought bathtubs stunk deserved my full sympathies.

I turned to Seven, my brow raised. "A wager?"

She looked straight at me. "No. A joke."

I blinked. "The Delaneys were joking?"

"No." There was a smile on her face that I found unexplainably enticing. "I was."

"You made that all up?" I felt my mouth drop open. "The Delaneys never told you anything?"

"That is correct." Seven tilted her neck. "It was Ensign Kim who told me about the holodeck program Ensign Paris was working on."

"Harry’s in big trouble." I grinned and then shook my head. "Still, Seven, you really exceeded my expectations. I never thought you could be so ruthless while joking."

"He wasn’t responding to diplomacy," she replied.

I chuckled as we walked out of the shuttlebay together. "I am just glad you didn’t use the phaser on him."

"I am sure he’ll feel much better when the Delaneys contact him regarding their date tonight."

"Janeway to Chakotay." The call came as we turned into the corridor.

"Chakotay here." I punched my combadge.

"Have your away team members and yourself report to my readyroom. We have more readings to correlate."

"On our way," I replied as we made our way towards the turbolift.

It was time to get back to work.

 

 

16 hours later

 

Back to the cabin. 2100 hours.

Another long, exhausting day in the Delta Quadrant over. Apparently a First Officer job was never finished. While Ensign Paris got off shift immediately after the away mission, and Seven got off half a shift later, I was left to look after the bridge. A 12-hour gig to make sure the ship went around the planet in its perfect little orbit, while the remaining alpha shift rested.

Sometimes I wondered if the captain had sadistic tendencies.

Or perhaps it was my infinite politeness. The forever-to-my-detriment kind that did me no good but was apparently meant for the wellness of the whole ship.

Yep. Me. Always the sacrificial goat.

The only interesting thing to have occurred during my shift was the two-line encoded message I received on my personal console from holodeck two. It said simply,

‘We’ve created a monster! By the way did you know a waterfall scenario works much better than a jacuzzi?’

Apparently, a good time had been had by Ensign Paris that evening after all.

I peeled the uniform off piece by piece, stretching to work out the kinks formed over the past day or so. First a long away mission. Then a long bridge shift. A hot shower would help, I knew, and I was so looking forward to it. I turned the lights off in the living room as I headed towards the bathroom, knowing my duties were over at least for the next sixteen hours.

The door chimed.

Or not.

Who the hell?!?

Frowning, I grabbed the bathrobe from the closet as I ordered the lights back on. I was pulling the sashes close as I strode over and pressed the panel at the door. It swished open.

I blinked. Seven stood at the threshold with something tucked under her arm and an air of mystique hanging around her.

"I asked the computer for your whereabouts," she began, looking up at me with the same ex-Borg assuredness she carried with her throughout the day. "It informed me you’d just gotten off duty. I assumed you were headed for the shower."

"Uh." Yeah. But.

Towels. She had towels tucked under her arm.

"It’s time to test your theory." She raised a golden brow.

"Theory?" I blinked again.

There was just a hint of humor in her large blue eyes. "That a First Officer’s shower stall is indeed built with luxury." She quirked her lips. "And as you said, and I quote, ‘plenty of space to maneuver’, in mind."

"Uh." It appeared I was at a loss for words even though my heart was thudding very fast at the possibilities.

"Although I have been through your quarters design specifications and the plans show the bathroom space to be quite capacious," she continued, "I couldn’t be entirely sure since I’ve never been inside them before."

"Uh."

And the consequences. Surely this wasn’t supposed to be so straightforward. So direct. So deliberate.

"I did some research and replicated a bathing gel, which can be used as a shampoo as well, and would suit most hair types," she offered helpfully. "I’d be happy to share it with you."

So terribly efficient.

My brain wrangled with me over the dreadful consequences of showering with a former Borg drone. Such an outrageous idea indeed. The Maquis and the Borg.

But still. There was something in her eyes. I’d been silent for way too long and how I, as her superior, was taking her suggestion was obviously open to interpretation.

"Unless," she blinked for the first time, a touch of hesitancy slipping into her demeanor, "unless," her eyes shifting down to her feet for a second, "I caught you at the wrong moment and you’d rather be doing something else."

Something akin to warmth filled my heart at her hesitancy. I reached out and placed my hand on her arm.

No. Not a Maquis. And not a Borg drone.

Just a man and a woman. A very beautiful woman.

I took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I’d love to, Seven."

She looked up at my face and smiled.

Deliberate and efficient? Perhaps. But that was okay. As long as she smiled that lovely smile.

I gently pulled her inside my quarters. The door swished shut behind her.

 

 

The next morning I had maintenance uproot the bathtub from my bathroom. I didn’t even want to look at it from that point on.

The crew was stunned to see Seven and I come in the messhall together, sit down to have breakfast together, and leave for our off-day together.

Only one satisfied conn officer sitting with two gorgeous twins on both arms had even an inkling of what had transpired.

As for me, I am just glad I never stunned that monkey.

 

**The End**


End file.
